One Last Night
by HermioneG11
Summary: On Hermione’s last night at Hogwarts she realizes how much the school has meant to her for the last seven years. After some nostalgic reflections and a sentimental conversation with her mentor, she finds some closure at last.


AN: I know that I should have been updating _Harry Potter Through Another's Eyes_, but –well actually, there's no excuse. This particular idea hasn't left me alone and every time I try to work on the other this concept keeps intruding. Since this will be a one-shot (unless of course you all demand more) I thought I'd get it out of the way before continuing on my other series.

A few things the reader should know before reading this fic:

1. I have not taken events of HBP into account. Therefore, Professor Dumbledore is alive, The trio has returned to school for 7th year, and McGonagall is Deputy Headmistress.

2. At the time this story takes place, Lord Voldemort was recently defeate.

3. I am working with the idea that there is a strong mentor/student bond between Professor McGonagall and Hermione. Any confidences, affection, trust, seemingly uncharacteristic warmth and caring from McGonagall etc., should be taken as a sign of their closeness, NOT as a sign of romantic relationship or femslash.

Summary: On Hermione's last night at Hogwarts she realizes how much the school has meant to her for the last seven years. After some nostalgic reflections and a sentimental conversation with her mentor, she finds some closure at last.

Disclaimer: If I were J.K. Rowling I wouldn't be a poor college student would I?

Hermione paused as she crossed the threshold into the Great Hall, warm and inviting as ever with its thousands of floating candles and hundreds of chatting students. Although she had seen the great hall daily for the last seven years, its beauty had never ceased to amaze her. The enchanted ceiling that seemed to open up unto the heavens – tonight showing many bright stars and a beautiful crescent moon, the golden plates and goblets that sat atop the four long house tables and the high staff table, and the gilded, throne-like headmaster's chair bestowed upon the hall a kind of timeless elegance that could not be duplicated. Tonight, Hermione was paying special attention to every one of the small, beautiful details of Hogwarts, wanting to embed the memories in her mind forever. This would be her final night as a student at Hogwarts and her last end-of-term feast would begin momentarily.

Remembering this fact, Hermione began to look up and down the Gryffindor table for Harry and Ron and was pleased to see that they had saved her a seat. Walking over to them and taking her chair, Hermione cast around for something to say. She knew that, on some level, Harry and Ron were feeling the same way that she was. Hogwarts had been the only place where Harry felt at home, the first place he had friends, the place where he wasn't regarded as a freak or as though he was something disgusting that the cat had dragged in. In this beloved castle Ron had achieved his ultimate goal in making a name for himself apart from his brothers and the place where he had not only found his own talents and gifts, but also excelled in them. To Hermione, Hogwarts had become home. It was the place that she had finally fit in after years and years of being teased and ridiculed for being bookish, for being the teacher's pet, for being _strange_ and making _strange_ things happen. It was the place that she had finally made friends and been appreciated for who she was. It was the place where she didn't have to keep secrets from her muggle family. To Hermione, Hogwarts was like a dream come true.

As Hermione looked at her two best friends she wondered how – or if she even should – verbalize any of this. Glancing at their faces she knew they too felt the solemnity and finality of evening. Neither of them seemed to be able to express this aloud either.

Fortunately they were spared the necessity of making conversation when Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet and silence fell over the hall. "Another year gone," he began, in his customary end-of-year fashion, "and it is my pleasure to announce that this year the house cup will be awarded to Gryffindor!"

Hermione smiled proudly and applauded as Dumbledore presented the cup to Professor McGonagall and shook her hand. Gryffindor had won the house cup every year she had attended Hogwarts – every year it had been _awarded_ that is.

"Yes, well done Gryffindor," continued Professor Dumbledore, "though I am sure that, in light of the end of the Great War we can all appreciate the value of unity, friendship, and love over the disparagement of division, hate, and evil. I urge all of you to preserve the peace that has so recently, and through such painstaking efforts, permeated the magical community. To those of you who are leaving these halls of education and entering the world as fully qualified adult witches and wizards, I dearly hope that you will take the lessons you have learned here with you, in hope that the world will never again fall under such darkness. I and the rest of the staff of Hogwarts wish you the best of luck. We are sure that you will all be very successful in your chosen paths and remember that the doors of Hogwarts will always be open to you, should you wish to return. With that said, tuck in!"

As the school applauded this speech and the golden plates began to fill, Hermione fought a burning, prickling feeling behind the eyes that promised forthcoming tears. No, it would not do to cry here, in front of the entire school, she thought, as she began to dish food onto her plate, though it was considerably less than she normally ate at feasts.

He feast went much more quickly than Hermione would have liked. All too soon they were heading back up to the Gryffindor common room and to bed. However, it seemed that going to bed and going to sleep were two different things for Hermione that night. As she listened to the deep, even breathing of her slumbering roommates, Hermione felt that she had never been more awake. She couldn't stop thinking. Memories played like a filmstrip in her mind, as vivid as though they had happened yesterday. Finally she couldn't stand it anymore. Getting quietly out of bed, Hermione pulled on her dressing gown and slippers and padded softly out of the room, down the staircase, and out the portrait hole.

"It's a little late to be out, isn't it?" squawked the Fat Lady, but Hermione ignored her. Yes, it was a bit late to be out, but for once Hermione didn't care, and after all, who would question the Head Girl? Besides she doubted that even filch would be on the prowl for mischief makers on the last night of term.

Hermione let her feet carry her without realizing where she was going. Lost in thought and memories she was surprised when she found herself outside of the Transfiguration classroom. This was where her first lesson at Hogwarts had taken place and this is where she had always come for guidance through out her years of schooling. From the very beginning Professor McGonagall had been her favorite teacher, role model, and mentor. She was exactly what Hermione wanted to be when she was older. It was professor McGonagall who convinced her to stay at Hogwarts during the first two months of her first year, when she felt depressed and lonely, it was Professor McGonagall who could always offer help with anything academic, offer a listening ear when Hermione needed to talk and Ron and Harry couldn't or wouldn't listen, it was Professor McGonagall who could always recommend a good book for background reading, and it was Professor McGonagall who continued to motivate Hermione when times became trying. In recent years, and especially since the war had started, Professor McGonagall became something of a surrogate mother to Hermione. It was difficult to explain what was going on at Hogwarts or how she was in the middle of a war at her age against a killer of unimaginable strength to muggles who had difficulty wrapping their minds around a simple levitating charm. So Hermione had found a trusted adult confidant in her transfiguration professor. When Hermione had suspected that Sirus Black had sent Harry the Firebolt she had gone to Professor McGonagall. It was Professor McGonagall who procured the time turner for her, and then made sure that Hermione rested when she was running herself too far into the ground. It was Professor McGonagall whom Hermione confided her hopes, fears, and dreams in. It was Professor McGonagall from whom Hermione sought information about the war from. When Hermione's parents had been killed by death eaters shortly before the end of the war, it had been Professor McGonagall who had told her the news, and Professor McGonagall's shoulder that she had cried on.

Hermione turned the doorknob and entered the classroom. The hour was late, she knew she would not find her beloved professor inside, but it eased the ache in her chest to just be in this room. As Hermione crossed the room to her customary desk in the center of the front row, she breathed in the familiar scent of chalk parchment, ink, and the faintest hint of Professor McGonagall's perfume. This room, this smell, and this desk were some of the favorite things in the world.

Hermione sighed. After tomorrow, nothing would ever be the same again. She, Harry and Ron would all be taking separate paths. Harry would be entering auror training in the fall, Ron was going to play keeper for this all time favorite team, the Chudley Cannons, and she'd been accepted to an elite research university. She was so afraid of drifting apart from her two closest friends. She also hated the thought of leaving Professor McGonagall. She could write of course, but she was sure that the esteemed professor had better things to do than read letters from ex-students.

Putting her head down on the desk, Hermione tried in vain to fight back the tears she'd been holding for days. She felt as though life as she knew it was crumbling under her feet and she had nothing solid to grab hold of. Hermione's shoulder's shook as the dam of sobs that she'd been holding broke. How was she supposed to live without the people and things that had defined her existence for the last seven years?

Hermione was so lost in her thoughts that she never heard approaching footsteps or the door to the classroom squeak open.

Minerva McGonagall stood dumbfounded in the doorway of her classroom. She had left her quarters to come retrieve the latest issue of _Transfiguration Today_. She had not expected however, to find her star pupil slumped in a desk crying her eyes out. Minerva crossed the room in a few quick strides and laid a gentle hand on Hermione's quivering shoulder.

"Miss Granger, what on earth are you doing here at this hour?" she asked, though she thought that she already knew. Hermione had realized what change was about to take over her life, that in 24 hours she would no longer be a Hogwarts student.

Hermione looked up, startled, and as chocolate brown eyes met emerald green eyes, Minerva knew she had been right.

"Professor, I-I-," but Hermione seemed unable to finish.

"You're feeling sad about tomorrow aren't you? Why don't you come back to my rooms, I'll make you a cup of tea, and we can talk about it, alright?"

Hermione could only nod mutely as Minerva gently guided her by the arm from the room and handed her a handkerchief which she used to dry her eyes. They traveled down the corridor to the heavy mahogany door that was the entrance to Minerva's quarters. Upon entering Minerva directed Hermione to sit on the sofa in the middle of the room while she bustled around making the tea things.

Hermione had bee in Professor McGonagall's private chambers only once before and that had been under even less pleasant circumstances. She now took the opportunity to look around. The sitting room which they were in was extremely handsome. The walls were painted in a dark red, with deep mahogany wood work that matched the door and furniture. The wall opposite the door held a large bay window looking out over the lake and forbidden forest and complete with an elegant window seat. A third wall held a large and ornately carved fireplace and a door which presumably led into Professor McGonagall's bedroom. The fourth wall held an impressive array of bookshelves that were filled with tomes of every shape and size. Near the fireplace there was an arrangement of two comfortable armchairs, a sofa, and a coffee table. The room was decorated in red and gold, presumably to show McGonagall's support for Gryffindor house, with accents of the McGonagall tartan spread throughout the room.

"Now," Professor McGonagall said, walking over with a laden tea tray, setting it down on the table, and handing a steaming cup to Hermione, "are you going to tell me what you were doing in my classroom at midnight?"

Hermione didn't answer right away. Instead, she took a sip of tea and willed herself to relax as the warm liquid settled in her stomach. After a brief pause Hermione set her cup down on the table and turned to face her professor.

"I couldn't sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about how much I'm going to miss all of this, about how nothing's ever going to be the same. N-now that my parents are gone Hogwarts is all I have. I d-don't want to lose that too." For the second time that night Hermione lost control over her emotions, buried her face in her hands and cried.

Hermione felt Professor McGonagall move closer and begin to rub soothing circles on her back. "Shh, Hermione dear, things will be alright. You're going to do very well at University and go on to be a very successful young lady. You needn't worry about losing touch with your friends. The three of you have a bond, the likes of which I have not seen in my almost forty years of teaching. If the three of you aren't still inseparable in twenty years, I'll eat my cloak. As for my part," continued McGonagall, drawing Hermione a little closer, "if I don't receive at least a few owls from my all-time favorite student, I will be more than a little disappointed."

Hermione wasn't sure if these pronouncements made her want to cry harder or laugh. How was it that Professor McGonagall always knew what to say to ease the questions in her mind before she'd even voiced them? A soft glow of warmth began to glow inside the pit of Hermione's stomach. Professor McGonagall's shows of affection were extremely rare and Hermione had never heard her express such outright favoritism. It had always been her goal to be Professor McGonagall's favorite. Even though everyone told her teasingly that she was, and even she had suspected it herself, but to hear it spoken aloud by her mentor was like a wish come true.

Just to make sure that she hadn't just dreamed the last few moments, Hermione removed her face from her hands, looked up at her Professor, and asked, "you really wouldn't mind if I wrote to you?"

Minerva drew Hermione into an embrace and held her close. "Of course not dear. To me, Hermione, you are more than just an excellent student and a brilliant mind. You've become something of a daughter that I've never had. You and I both know that teachers and students are supposed to maintain a sort of professional distance. We've closed that gap so much that the distance is hardly recognizable, but you know something? I don't regret it at all. You're one of the mot intelligent, caring, worthwhile, bright, generous, giving people that I've ever had the fortune to meet and I hope that our paths won't diverge just because you're leaving Hogwarts."

Hermione wrapped her arms tighter around the professor, buried her face further in McGonagall's dressing gown, and said between sniffles, "you've always been there for me that I don't know what I would do without your guidance. Ever since I started Hogwarts you've been like my mother away from home. I know I wouldn't be the person I am today without you. I was so afraid that we would never speak to each other after tomorrow. I feel so much better now. Thank you Professor, I-I love you so much.

"And I love you too, Hermione."

They sat there in each other's arms for a long time, not speaking and crying silently.

Eventually, at about four in the morning, Minerva noticed that Hermione's sniffles had subsided and her breathing had become deep and even. "Poor dear," thought McGonagall, "she's cried herself to sleep. Gently laying Hermione down on the couch she took the tartan blanket from the nearby armchair and covered the sleeping girl.

"Yes," thought McGonagall, "as she turned out the lights in the room with a wave of her wand and crossed to her bedroom, "come tomorrow things would change, be she and Hermione would always have their special bond.

AN: Hope you liked it Maybe now I'll be able to work on my other fic.


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